


Blue

by allblue



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Rhys Keeps the ECHOeye, and then uploads ai jack with heavy restrictions, idk this is just kinda-sorta shippy but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allblue/pseuds/allblue
Summary: handsome jack has been dead for quite some time.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fanfic at 4am and wanted to do more with it but for now i'm just going to throw this into the void. i'm not a rhackie or in the rhack fandom but i think they're neat. i don't write fics often but it be like that.

the galaxy has a large, gaping wound that has never fully managed to seal itself up, festering and infected, crusting around the edges. sometimes it's picked at, attempts at reopening it only met with protesting outcry, a sick joke played on the masses. a mockery of a legacy which had long ago been laid to rest. and yet his ghost remained, lingering in the minds of those old enough to remember it, sung from the high heavens by the weaklings who longed for it. handsome jack has been dead for quite some time.

yet within these ghostly halls, the early hours of a late night, the echoing laughs rattle around. the cruel joke is one he invests in, enjoys with interest, watches shoulders hunch & lips quiver. occasionally heads turn to look behind them, others pick up the pace in their step - heels clicking across the floor as the echo spreads across the vast openness of it all.

blue hues flicker across everything, bouncing off the walls and illuminating the darkness currently settled over. little entertainment to be had, and yet it seemed to placate him just enough, ebb away at the hunger for something more. bitter edges slowly chipped away at, no real malice in any of his harmless jokes. they were to be kept that way. rhys would make sure of it.

nobody knew what the blue was, however the voice sounding through the speakers at these hours was the worst-kept secret of atlas. so was the way said blue seeped into the skin of a man sat in rhys' chair. hands splayed over, clipping through, mouth pushed against rhys' ears despite the dissonance of where the voice was meant to be versus where it was. where it was, was around them, rolling through the sound system installed around the large office.

guilt seemed to wrap around him like tendrils, shadowy things which crawled under his skin, tugged at him, compelled him into whatever ugly manifestation of his own nightmares he'd decided to bring forth now. it was his own fault, his own twisted desires often kept under lock and key, an ECHOeye burning against the lining of his pocket. rhys didn't know what made him more ill, the undeniable fact that he was enjoying this, or the fact that it wasn't enough and as a result was frustrating him. 

"rhysie." it's glitched, distorted and sounds wrong. as if his -  _ it's _ \- vocal chords got fried. which is impossible, considering the fact that  _ it's _ not real,  **_he's_ ** dead, has been dead for over ten years now, has died twice… but somehow it's enough to elicit a choked sob. the blue grins wider, hands moving, fingers splaying across skin displayed from where rhys had squirmed enough to hike up his shirt as a result. rhys is trying very hard to keep his eyes trailed on the movements of the museum-sized fish tanks in his office, but even then the blue peers back at him. mocks his poor attempts at escaping something he's wanted for so long. "didn't you _ask_ for this, kiddo?"

he did. he had. he does, still, a soft echo of  _ please _ resounding somewhere in the back of his mind in chorus. the blue has been in his mind before. rhys feels a wave of welcomed nausea roll over him, another shaky groan exhaled into the wide space of his office. " ** _no._** " a fat lie, tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip, brows furrow further in a futile attempt to regain some form of composure. not that he ever really  _ had _ any to begin with, though.

from the very beginning this was a sinking ship, something to be abandoned, cut away (it had been), destroyed (but he'd held on anyway), forgotten (the voices wouldn't let him). it would drive anyone completely mad, absolutely insane, to know you could bring back the one person you'd always wanted. rhys knew it wasn't good for him, knew he should've stopped this by now. he'd tried. nothing ever felt quite right.

"now we both know that's a lie, _cupcake._ " the blue spoke in jeer, lip curving in one corner. blue pushed himself up and away from the chair. rhys could breathe easily for the first time that evening. he sat up, hair disheveled from retreating further into the leather chair underneath his weight, eyes watching the hologram with caution. this would end whenever  _ he _ wanted it to, he knew this, had to remind himself that there were shackles very firmly placed on the program, filtering it through layers of intricate programming of which had weeks, no,  _ months _ worth of effort poured into. "friggin hell, kiddo,  _ say something _ already! speak to me, here. give me more than yes or no or small grunts here and there."

nothing was there to  _ say _ , rhys thought bitterly to himself. but in the same held breath there was so much.  _ i missed you, i mis you, i need you, jack, jack, jack _ ― "fuck you, jack." idiot. 

scowl tightened over rhys' features, leaning across his desk and hitting the remote control. the blue blinked out without even giving jack a chance to beg, to let him stay, to allow the blue to reflect across the walls and give sentience, pride that other people could walk in and see if rhys  _ let them _ . he wouldn't, though. not yet. maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter at @timjpeg if you're not a freak.


End file.
